


About a Quarter to Nine

by stelian



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancer Jesper, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Musician Wylan, street musician au, with like two (2) emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelian/pseuds/stelian
Summary: He was being rejected, he knew that, but Jesper was drunk, and he was clingy, and he was not going to let this kid win an imaginary argument. So Jesper started dancing.(or, the one where Wylan is struggling to pay his rent and plays music on the streets, Jesper dances and has no restraint, and everyone is embarrassed at what these dorks get up to.)





	1. Chapter 1

It was February, another snowstorm had just hit, Wylan Hendriks was behind on his rent again, and _apparently_ no one on this street had ever learned the values of tipping.

For all intents and purposes, the day _should_ have gone well. He’d set up near a museum that was usually filled with tourists, but today it was curiously empty. Wylan had also started off with playing the violin, which usually worked in more “cultured” areas, but there was hardly anyone around to even hear him. The most attention he’d gotten was a few vaguely dirty looks and a disapproving glance from a police officer. However, the worst part of the day was the man who had walked up when Wylan pulled out his guitar and started singing, seemingly enjoying his performance… and then walked away.

All in all, he made a whopping three dollars.

Cutting ties with your rich father is, unsurprisingly, costly.

Wylan trudged into his flat, tracking in mud and bits of snow from his boots. Kuwei, who was laying on the floor with a notebook in front of him, hardly looked up as the door creaked open. For a moment, Wylan worried he’d passed out until he heard him give a slight groan. Probably organic chemistry again.

Light footed, he walked around him to set down his cases and throw his satchel over a chair. Grabbing his laptop, Wylan sank into the torn yet overstuffed couch, pulled up the spreadsheet, and got to work. Maybe he just had to change up his routine? Guitar-and-voice was a classic; usually, he’d bring that out towards the end of the show and rake in some money. He only brought his flute out occasionally because, even though it was by far his strongest instrument, it was too quiet to effectively play. And as much as he enjoyed the violin, looking at the numbers…

“Shush. You’re thinking too loud.” Kuwei, at some point, had flipped himself and rolled over onto his back and was currently staring up at Wylan, hair blown over his face. “Just… relax. Enjoy the minimalistic scenery of our lovely flat.”

He’d definitely been working on organic chemistry. Nothing could send Kuwei into an apathetic, overly-calm mindset like stressing out over his worst subject. “Yesterday, you were stressing out about being able to make this month’s rent. I think you should take your own advice.”

Kuwei just pouted and rolled back over, tying his hair back and flipping through pages of organic molecules again. “I’ve given up on life. Money isn’t real, life isn’t real, time isn’t real, _I’m_ not real…”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Wylan said, tapping absentmindedly on his keyboard. If only he’d decided to pursue a major that would actually _make money_ instead of going for music with a minor in chemistry, but there was _no way_ he was going to listen to his father and do something practical like business. “We’ll figure it out.” 

* * *

It was 11:46 in the evening on February 13 in the year 2017, and Jesper Fahey was drunk out of his mind. He wasn’t slightly tipsy and still coherent, just a bit looser with affection and words; he was full drunk with no control over his actions and absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth.

“Inej, let’s…. let’s just get married. We can do it tomorrow! I know a priest, my uncle went to… to whatever pastor school is for like, a month, we could probably break into a church…. we could do our little solo as our first dance… we just need some musicians. And rings! But I have some old ring pops, I think that would work…”

Inej, to her credit, just laughed. She was also a little on the drunk side, but only enough that she was a bit less tightly-wound and her cheeks bore the slightest flush. “I don’t think we’re ready for that,” she said, breaking their dance just briefly to brush her hair out of her face. The tight bun she’d worn for the rehearsal before their big party had mostly fallen out, leaving strands of hair flying everywhere as they twirled.  
“We’re dance partners this year! How does that _not_ imply marriage?”

“I don’t know, but we should at least go on a date first.”

“We’re dancing right now. How is this not a date?”

Jesper pulled her into another tight spin, making his head whirl in the process. Inej only seemed slightly dizzy afterwards, but she was famous for her ridiculous series of turns that left the whole room feeling dizzy just watching her. Even drunk, she was still in control of herself.

He became aware of a shadow approaching from the corner of his vision. Jesper was prepared to fight off some kind of demonic invader until the shadow was close enough for him to tell that it was tall, leaning on a cane, and _very_ grumpy.

“Kaz! Kazoo! My best friend! My best man! How’s it going?”

“You’re drunk,” Kaz said, flat. He gave him the disappointed look that, at times, could give Matthias’s Dad Look a run for its money. Today, it didn’t work.

“I know! It’s fun! I’m having fun! That’s what you do at a party; you _have fun_. You don’t just hang out in the corner and drink apple juice while pretending it’s beer.”

“I don’t do that.” Kaz turned his attention on Inej for support, but she just covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. “Fine, maybe I’ve done that once. But still, you’re far too drunk and you’re going to embarrass yourself soon.”

Jesper pouted, pulling Inej closer. Kaz’s glare just intensified. “But Dad, I’m not going to embarrass myself-”

“He asked me to marry him,” Inej said. Jesper pushed her away. Traitor.

That seemed to appease Kaz. He grabbed Jesper’s arm and started to pull him away from the crowded dance floor (which, it was a miracle Kaz even got this far _out_ , he usually didn’t leave the corners), saying, “Yeah, you’re done. Good night, Inej.”

“Night!” Inej called, turning around to dance by herself. Eventually she’d probably find Nina and they’d dance together, so Jesper didn’t feel _too_ bad for leaving. Not that he wanted to leave, of course.

Drunk Jesper, apparently, had no sense of boundaries, because he wrapped himself around Kaz like a monkey that felt it was about to fall. Usually this kind of contact got you a punch (at best) or sent Kaz to a Bad Place, but tonight… he seemed looser, somehow; his posture more relaxed than usual and his grip on his cane not as blisteringly tight. Perhaps he had actually drank some alcohol tonight, or perhaps the mood of the room had absorbed into him somehow and left him feeling something close to happy, for once. Regardless, Jesper was proud of him.

Maybe _too_ proud of him.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you? I mean, you’re my roommate, but you’re _so much more_ than that, oh my god, I _love_ you and how Kaz you are, and you scare the hell out of me and you probably could- and would- murder me in my sleep, but.... I love you. You’re the bomb. The _man_ .” Kaz, for the most part, ignored the endless stream of babble coming from Jesper’s mouth, which was a miracle considering he usually made some sort of sarcastic comment when this happened. (Jesper couldn’t help the fact that he was a clingy drunk and Kaz was his “designated walker”, because they were both too poor to afford a car and it was _Amsterdam_ , you don’t need a car in Amsterdam anyway).

Jesper was in the middle of rambling about how even his _dad_ loved Kaz when they suddenly stopped, and the moment he took a breath he _knew_ that he was about to tell him to stop babbling, shut up and act normal for once and that no one cared, but instead Kaz pulled a wad of money out of his pocket. “I’m out of advil, and this place isn’t completely shady. Can you not die while I go and get some?” He nodded, which made his vision swim just a little bit. _Maybe_ Jesper was a little too drunk. Just maybe.

While Kaz disappeared into the little store, Jesper leaned against a wall and tried to think about his marriage proposal to Inej. He just needed some flowers, maybe some backup music and- and yes, backup _dancers_ , and he’d rip his shirt off and break into some-

Wait, backup music?

Jesper blinked out of his fantasy at the sound of music, old-fashioned jazz played on a violin that sounded just a hare out of tune, and he found himself stumbling towards it like a lost child. It felt- The music felt homey, for whatever reason; like the warmth of his mother and the nights where she’d sing along to the radio or she’d dance in the living room with Jesper standing on her toes, reaching up to her and following her fluid moves with chubby toddler stiffness.

“You’re not my mom,” he said when he found the source of the music. It was a kid- there was no way he was older than fifteen- sitting on a stood, violin under his chin, rapidly playing a swing tune. Based on his look of intense concentration, he was probably improvising.

 _Was_ was the keyword.

Once Jesper spoke, the song broke off suddenly before the kid held out a random note. “I’m sorry?” he said, looking up at him. His eyes were huge and _impossibly_ blue, like every simile for blue eyes that ever been written.

“I thought you were my mom. You’re not.”

The kid raised an eyebrow, slinking back on his stool. He probably thought Jesper was some strange man trying to kidnap him, which, to be fair, was not a bad conclusion to make when someone says you thought they were your mother. “That’s… unfortunate,” he said, picking his violin back up.

Jesper stood there for a moment while the kid flipped through his book, brows again drawn in concentration. “Do you think if someone’s your dance partner you should marry them?”

This time, he wasn’t graced with a response. The kid just glared at him before starting another round of improv just as intense as the last one. He was being rejected, he knew that, but _damnit_ Jesper was drunk, and he was clingy, and he was _not_ going to let this kid win an imaginary argument.

So Jesper started dancing.

The street corner was crowded with people heading home after a long day/night and wasn’t very spacious to begin with, Jesper hadn’t taken a jazz class in _years_ , and his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated, but he swayed with the music, spun when it called for it, clapped at times. Vaguely, he was aware of a crowd gathering to watch the child prodigy play while a _very_ drunk man danced along, but it didn’t bother him. At one point the music lulled and Jesper saw the kid stare up at him, eyes wide, but instead of yelling at him the kid _nodded_ and he resumed with renewed vigor, not bothering to worry about the amount of people he accidentally slapped.

And then a voice yelled, “JESPER LLEWYN FAHEY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING,” and the mood died. Jesper froze in the middle of a spin, losing his balance and tumbling into the kid, who had once again suddenly stopped his song. Parting the crowd was, again, a tall, grumpy shadow holding a cane and a small plastic bag. “Jesper, I _told_ you you were going to embarrass yourself. Let’s get home before you make out with a random stranger.” He started to turn to leave, but looked over his shoulder. “And apologize to that poor musician.”

Jesper turned his head to look at the kid, who was half-beneath him from when he fell. He pulled himself away, squatting in front of him. “Sorry about that, I’m really drunk and I guess I have no inhibition-”

“Look at my tip bag.”

“- it was wrong of me, I probably embarrassed you, _God_ I’m so sorry, you were just minding your business and playing your amazing music and I ruined it for you, also you’re like twelve and-”

“Jesper Llewyn Fahey, I’m nineteen years old, and _look at my tip bag_.”

Jesper finally looked away from the kid’s eyes (well, not kid, even though he looked like a kid) and at the little sac that sat in front of his violin case. It was overflowing with money, a few coins sprinkled around the outside.

“I’ve never made this much money before. You don’t even _know_ how much I needed that.”

Jesper was about to respond when Kaz yelled his name again and shot him a glare that meant he _definitely_ wanted to kill him a little bit, and so he pulled himself away from the kid and walked the rest of the way home in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus: 
> 
> “Kaz, do you think my mom would be proud of me?”  
> “Jesper, you’re drunk, go to bed. And yes, of course she’d be proud of you.”  
> “Good. I mean, I knew that. It’s just nice to get the reinforcement, you know? Everyone needs a little positive reinforcement sometimes. Even you.”  
> “... Go the fuck to sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wylan makes a friend at his audition, and Jesper stumbles across a familiar face while he's sober.

Jesper made his way out of rehearsal in a daze.

His hair, thick with sweat, clung to his head and left it lifeless and gross. Of course, once he stepped outside, a deep chill settled into his bones and erased all memories of the toasty little studio he’d just emerged from. Kaz usually walked him home, but he was locked up in a studio practicing for some big gig he’d just landed. So Jesper stopped at the next door coffee shop, held the cup close to his chest for the warmth, and pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Nina about their plans for the upcoming swing dance fundraiser.

Maybe it was cold, maybe it was him furiously reviewing steps in his head, or maybe he was just that dense, but he didn’t even notice the flute music playing until it stopped, someone screamed, and Jesper was suddenly aware that he wasn’t standing upright anymore. 

“What the  _ hell _ -” someone said from beneath him, but then they cut off with a rather adorable squeak. Jesper looked down at the person he’d literally  _ stepped on _ (he was a living tall person joke; Inej would mock him for this later) and for whatever reason he  _ knew  _ those big eyes, those messy curls, the  _ freckles _ -

“It’s you,” they both said at approximately the same time. It would have been adorable, except they were looking at him with vague malice.

“You’re the musician,” Jesper said at the same time he said, “You’re the dancer.”

* * *

Wylan unpacked his flute and tried not to panic.  _ You can do this, you’ve practiced for this, it’s just an audition, it doesn’t matter if you fail it because you’re probably going nowhere anyway _ -

Thanks, Dad. Always leaving gifts.

He looked around the crowded room, trying to find a distraction. All of the other musicians were absorbed in their own audition materials, fingering through scales and etudes without even really looking at them. Watching them, with their relaxed posture and confident hands, Wylan felt… small. Out of place. Why was he even trying? He wouldn’t make this anyway.

It wasn’t a big audition. There were a few spots open in the pit for a big production happening nearby. It was only a few weeks and the pay wasn’t great, but it was  _ something  _ to add to the barren resumé Kuwei was working on constructing for him. 

Wylan was jarred out of his thoughts when a body sank into the seat beside him, stretching out their long legs. He looked up and caught a sea of  _ black _ beside him- black suit jacket, black pants, black shoes, black gloves, black, messy hair, even a black cane with a large crow sticker near the handle. The person slumped in their chair, staring ahead while rhythmically flexing their fingers. There was nothing that unusual about them besides the shockingly unprofessional hairstyle, but for whatever reason Wylan found himself staring.

He  _ knew  _ this person. It wasn’t like the passing knowledge he had of most of the street musicians who set up around him, nor was it the sort of familiarity he’d have of people who always crossed through his spots. It wasn’t from class; he’d remember someone like this. And Wylan didn’t exactly have friends outside of Kuwei, so…

“You know, you don’t hear a lot of jazz violin these days. I like it. Something different.” Oh, god, why did he know this person, also why were they talking about jazz violin, he had a flute etude out-

Oh god.

“You remember me?”

The person laughed, a low, gravelly sound. Something about the raspy quality to his voice made speaking sound painful, but perhaps it was just a quirk. “Of course I do. I never forget anyone.” For a moment he fiddled with his cane, and then added, “Also, Jesper humiliated himself with you.”

_Jesper_. Right, that was his name. Jesper Llewyn Fahey. “I mean, I made a lot of money when he danced with me. I guess people like to see a drunk man dancing to some strange jazz music.”  
They laughed again. “Jesper’s pretty interesting. He tends to draw a crowd wherever he goes.”

Neither of them talked for a while. Wylan resumed cleaning his flute and glancing over his music to make  _ sure  _ that’s what that rhythm was. Gradually, as time went on, he could feel the air in the room relax as the first few auditions ran and people began to get settled; he could sense the buzz of conversation of people who didn’t  _ really  _ want to become friends but didn’t want to be both bored and lonely.

Listening to other people talk helped to ease his nerves a little bit (at the least, it was a good distraction), but Wylan’s brain still went against him and began to project his insecurities. So, he looked over at the person beside him and decided to try his best to strike up a conversation again.

“What are you auditioning on?” he asked before realizing how obvious the answer was.

“Piano,” he said with a grin, not mentioning Wylan’s little flub. “My name’s Kaz, by the way. Kaz Brekker.”

“Nice to meet you, Kaz,” he said, staring for a moment before realizing he should probably introduce himself as well. “I’m Wylan Va- Hendriks. Wylan Hendriks.” Kaz cocked an eyebrow at his him, but again failed to mention it.

It was hard, sometimes, to remember that he was free. It wasn’t like leaving home was a hard decision; he’d planned for it for years until the day he turned eighteen, when he walked out of his father’s expensive house and found a little flat to share with a political science student (formerly; Kuwei still couldn’t decide a major). After that it was easy to get a legal name change- Hendriks, like the name on his mother’s death certificate, buried under the weight of her husband’s name- and burn his ties to his father, but there were embers that still remained. And sometimes he felt like they were trying to drag him under.

“Van Hendriks? Any relation to the millionaire businessman?”

Wylan flinched, rapidly trying to backpedal. “No, I don’t know a Van Hendriks-”

“But you do know a Van Eck, formerly married to a Hendriks, and with a son named Wylan who mysteriously disappeared from the public eye a few years ago?” Kaz still had a bit of a smile on his face, but the boy casually making conversation was long gone. Wylan was suddenly aware that he was never going to walk out of this audition.

But instead of bludgeoning Wylan with his flute case, Kaz seemed to soften somehow. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. I just knew you looked familiar.”

Wylan relaxed back in his seat, but only somewhat. “Then why did you bring it up?” Kaz just shrugged. 

“I always wondered why a rich kid would throw it all away and live like a normal person. But I guess, based on how you responded, there’s probably a good reason.”

“You could say that,” Wylan said, slumping down in his seat. A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him, the summation of several late nights of playing followed by practicing halfway through the night. “I wish there wasn’t. God, it sounds selfish, but I wish I could go back to not worrying about rent or tuition or how I’m ever going to make a living with a  _ music  _ degree, of all things.”

Beside him, Kaz shifted as well. He probably thought he was weird, spilling all of his thoughts to a total stranger. But… for a long time, Wylan had felt like a bottle under pressure, his thoughts building and building and the pressure steadily rising until something would happen and the cap would peak open, just a little bit, and everything in his head since he moved out would burst onto any bystanders.

“That’s fair. Believe me, I would do  _ anything  _ for a little bit of financial security.” There was a glint in his eyes that said Kaz meant he’d do  _ anything _ . Not for the first time, Wylan found himself a little intimidated by his presence. “Besides, that’s not the worst decision. I’ve made worse.” He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers around, to which Wylan just tilted his head. “Severe degenerative arthritis, especially in my fingers and knees. A few years ago I decided I’d play as much piano as possible until it became too painful, so at least I made the most of it. Very bad decision. I don’t recommend it at all.”

Apparently they were both in an oversharing mood. But at that moment Wylan realized it was his time, rushed to put his flute together, and threw Kaz a salute before tripping over his feet on his way to the audition room.

* * *

“Dance,” the musician said after they spent a moment staring at each other.

“What?” Jesper said, reeling backwards. Based on the intensity in his eyes he was expecting a demand for an apology, but instead he ordered him to dance? What was  _ wrong  _ with this kid? Maybe he’d really stepped on him and hit his head and now he had a concussion, oh God, then he’d be liable and he didn’t have money for that-

“Jesper Llewyn Fahey, you need to dance.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll call an ambulance for you, I’m sure you really hit your head and you might be suffering severe brain damage right now, sorry about that, also why do you know my middle name-” For whatever reason he didn’t think to ask why he also knew his first and last names, but that wasn’t a pressing concern.

“Jesper, calm down. I’m fine. Except I’m behind on my rent and  _ apparently  _ no one pays attention to street musicians except when drunk people dance along with them.” Now that he mentioned it, Jesper  _ did  _ have a clear memory of Kaz shouting his name, which would explain how he knew his name.

Jesper became suddenly aware that he was blocking a relatively narrow stretch of sidewalk, so he backed off to the side in order to allow passage (also, to be able to talk to the musician without yelling at him). He started to object, but the kid fixed a look at him and said, “You’re the one who stepped on me. I think you owe me. Also, you look kind of cute when you’re dancing.”

And he went bright red.

To be fair, Jesper probably did too, but it was a lot less noticeable on him than on the kid’s ridiculously pale skin. So, in order to spare himself embarrassment, he did what he always did: dance his way out of problems. (He also may or may not have internally high-fived himself at the pun he made).

The kid raised an eyebrow when Jesper started swaying to a rhythm that didn’t quite exist, and then he jumped back into a rapid swing tune. Somewhere in his mind he remembered the song from a swing dance class way back when, but Jesper just shut his mind off and focused on the steps, hops, and twirls he’d learned all those years ago. He  loved swing dance because of how  _ easy  _ it was. No one watches swing dancers and expects the timed, graceful leaps of ballet; instead, it’s just...  loose. Casual. Reminders of a time that’s been whitewashed to seem carefree and without any problems.

The song ended with a flurry of notes and then immediately transitioned into another, slower paced and more emotional. Jesper paused for a moment to catch the rhythm and then flowed into a more lyrical set, swaying and turning and projecting the longing on his body. 

Wylan flowed through a few more songs rapidly and Jesper followed suit, the aches that had been in his body leaking out of him with the music. Somewhere, Jesper became aware of a crowd beginning to gather, but he paid it no mind. 

His mind was, solely and completely, focused on the music. So much so that, once Wylan finished his last song, Jesper swayed and danced to silence before he realized that the music was over.

(Also, he was drenched in sweat).

The small crowd began to disperse, throwing money into the tip bag. A woman patted Jesper on the shoulder and complimented him on the “beautiful act and relationship the two had” before thrusting a hefty wad of bills into his hand. 

Jesper whirled around to see Wylan carefully packing up his violin, breathing heavily. He knelt down and tried his best to squeeze the woman’s money into the tip bag.

“What are you doing?” Wylan said, half bent-over at his violin case.

“What do you mean? I’m giving you your money.”

Wylan frowned, snapping his case shut. “I can’t take all of it.”

“What do you mean? You did the work, I just danced?”

Wylan stood up, stool draped over one arm and case grasped in the other. He gave Jesper a look that, on any other person, may have looked intimidating; however, Jesper still suspected he lied about being 19. “What? You should see how much money I make normally. Clearly, you’re the one doing all of the work here.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Fine.” Jesper reached over and snatched his stool, throwing it over his shoulder. “Since this seems to be a favorable opportunity for both of us, we should discuss a business deal.”

If Jesper could frame a moment in his mind, he would definitely choose right now. Wylan, standing on a street corner, face flushed, wrapped in a massive, ugly scarf, snow just beginning to fall around him, violin case clenched white-knuckled in his hand. It was like a painting he’d see in an art gallery some day.

And then a woman cut too close to Jesper, slammed into his side, and knocked him just enough off-balance that he stumbled into Wylan and sent his (thankfully, now cold) coffee flying. 

“Shit, I am  _ so sorry _ ,” Jesper said, glancing down at Wylan’s formerly white sweater that was now splattered. He followed his gaze down, and his eyes were all wide again- as if he hadn’t noticed the liquid covering him.

“You’re fine,” Wylan said, trancelike. “I live near here, I’ll just- go home.” He turned, starting to run off. Jesper grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Wait a minute!” The slightest head turn back at him. “Um, I have your stool. Also, if you wanted to talk business-?”

Two things happened in quick succession. First, Wylan wrenched the stool back from Jesper using the hand not connected to him. Second, he practically ripped his arm back, dug out his phone, and threw it at him. “Number,” he said, curt.

He ran off as soon as he finished entering his number.

 

**unknown number:** hey friend this is jesper (the hot dancing stranger)

**unknown number:** i hope you’re ok

**unknown number:** i know it’s like -20 out there and the coffee was probably frozen but like

**unknown number:** idk i’m a big person and you’re not so like. that was probably pretty terrifying

**unknown number:** please respond so i don’t think i killed you

( **_read 10:52_ ** _ ) _

**unknown number:** ok that works too i guess

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (bonus)
> 
> “Wylan Van Eck, why the fuck are you blushing at 11 at night.”
> 
> “Wylan Van Eck, do not throw your fucking phone across the room.”
> 
> “... Is it the cute dancer again?”
> 
> Silence.
> 
> The most sheepish “maybe” Kuwei has ever heard in his life.
> 
> “You need to bring him home so I, your mother, can approve.”
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------------------------
> 
> so this has been hanging out on my hard drive for like?? months?? and i just now decided to pull it out and throw it up haha.
> 
> also: kaz in this fic is 100% a depressed pianist who is Dedicated To The Aesthetic and is just hella extra about. literally everything. i think he might be my favorite kaz (cocky as shit, likes to unsettle people, also very very in love with inej). at some point i might write a prequel about him, but that would require actually having the time.
> 
> sorry that i like. died for a while. work and school kind of swallowed my life for a while, and i'm probably going to go back into that black hole for a while after this. but! i do know how this fic ends! so that's good!
> 
> thank you guys for putting up with me!

**Author's Note:**

> so when i said at the end of ghost that i had something completely different coming up, this was... not what i was referring to, but then i had a rough few weeks with exams and i decided that i needed some fluff. so here we are! just some lighthearted guys being dudes.
> 
> once again this is all libby [joanwatsvn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/joanwatsvn/pseuds/joanwatsvn)/[mathiashevlr](http://mathiashevlr.tumblr.com)'s fault, because i'm pretty sure this was her idea? and i've yelled ideas at her for this many, many times.
> 
> as always, my tumblr is [pippims](http://pippims.tumblr.com) and i'm always up for talking about these nerds. thanks for reading!


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